Whoa I Didn't Know I Sent Something to Postsecret

Me, Myself, and I

As often as I self-deprecatingly dismiss my looks, I am not that oblivious about my actual appearance. I know that I am not an ugly girl. I am not a smoking hot girl either, but I never wanted to be. Instead, I am the best kind of girl.

I'm not the one who commands immediate attention upon entering a room, but I am the one who'll be leading you by the nose at the end of the night. (If I even choose to, that is.)

I'm not the one who's on every person's To-Bang List, but I am the one you'll be wondering about at night after you send your girlfriend home.

I'm the one who makes you spill your secrets without batting an eye. I'm the one who holds your eyes when I walk by until I round that corner. I'm the one who gets under your skin.

As I've said before, I'm the best kind of girl.

Short in the Middle

I've been at Shorter College for a few days, adjusting to my new schedule and not-quite-sane 6am wakeup calls. The professors are friendly and personable, eager to help and easy to get to know. I eat my mother's cooking every night so I know I will neither lose nor gain weight for the time being. My shifts at the restaurant have decreased, my presence now reduced to two weekend appearances and the odd night or two on weekdays. Indra gets to see me every day as I drive him to school and take him home. All in all, not a bad deal, considering what has happened this summer.

Obviously I want to go back to Middlebury. Somebody hide me in his/her luggage, please.

OT3 is The New OTP

Love Letters Are Foolish And Sentimental

I wonder if you think of me at all. If you've thought of me even once this summer, like a memory unbidden that you cannot quite forget. You probably don't. Old as you are, there must be plenty of other one-night stands that have made a much bigger impression than I could ever hope to. I was your young, foolish mistake, and I wish you could be reckless all the time.

I remember you at the most inopportune moments. I am working a night shift, the pen in my hand poised to take someone's order when abruptly I can almost (but not quite) feel the slide of your tongue on my thigh, and I drop the pen, startled and flustered. Or I am diligently taking notes in class, and suddenly I hear your voice in my ear, breathless and husky, and the professor could be revealing life's greatest secrets for all I care because right then I cannot process a single coherent thought. Or my parents are telling me something important and instead of filing their pearls of wisdom away, I am distracted by a light pressure on my breasts, ghost fingers brushing over my nipples as they head for parts (un)known.

The smile on your face. The shape of your chin. The jut of your hips. The sweep of your shoulders. I shudder at these snapshot images I had hungrily stored away at the time and conjure them in my mind's eye for later, night-time use.

Was I memorable? Was I your first Asian? Did I leave anything behind?

My God, I want your mouth on my skin again.

Everything Has Already Been Said

You shot yourself in the head last night. And here I thought we would eventually meet again, years from now, and I would be a successful businesswoman while your life was as messy and ugly as it was in high school. I would gloat and tout my success over your head, and then I could let my grudge go. But you beat me, Eric. You got the last word.

You win.

And I'm sorry. You and I had one fucked-up relationship, but I shouldn't have blamed you for never loving me back. We both wronged each other, and I should have owned up to my self-delusions. I suppose the real reason why I couldn't bring myself to forgive you is because you have affected me so much in so many different ways while I barely made a ripple in your short, young life. Wasn't I important to you when you thought you had no one else? Didn't you like our long conversations on the phone? Did our friendship mean nothing? Why weren't you sorry?

And now I'll never know. But it's okay, right?

I Am a Cruel Mistress

Time: August 12, 2010
Setting: Chopsticks Restaurant

~~

New Guy: I've been with a lot of girls, but most of them only want me for my body. There was this one girl who stayed with me for six months just for the sex.

Me: Do they tell you this?

New Guy: Basically. I mean, I have girls check me out all the time then come tell me I have a "meh" face but a banging-ass body.

Me: Oh, so you're a guy version of a "buthisface."

New Guy: ...pretty much.

The Food Mecca (click me)

When I die, this will be my personal heaven. I'm sure of it.

How To Be Productive On An Off-Day

Sleep until 2pm. Then download The Matrix movie. Watch it. Eat instant noodles.

'Nough said.

Mad for Mad Men